Cessation of Hope
by ms hearse
Summary: The Dark Lord wins. All hope is gone. There is a future laid before her, but what is the cost of his love?
1. The Lifting of the Veil

_Cessation of Hope_

_The Lifting of the Veil_

We look over the Black Lake in reverence, not daring to speak, least the peace of our union be disturbed. I glance up at the Dark Mark that hovers amongst the clouds: a taxing reminder of hope destroyed, for the Death Eaters have a constant watch on Hogwarts through its eerie complexion. I look back at the lake. It's a gloomy day: one of dank light and darker spirit. The skies seem eternally grayed since the death of Harry Potter.

Snape is unreachable, staring out at the lake, eyes glazed in thought. He does not move, not even to watch as I bend to untie my shoes and remove my socks and walk steadily toward the water's edge. I wade through the tiny ripples my legs make, feeling the sandy stones beneath me, and pull my frizzy brown hair back behind my ears, reaching for my tie as Snape turns to look over the browned grassy area of the Hogwarts court.

"Even the grass mourns," he snarls.

He thumbs the strands of my hair, pulling through pieces of my newly-made ponytail and sliding fingers down my back. I shiver a bit from the touch; it feels similar to the anticipation I had once felt almost a year ago, as I sat in the front row of Potions.

**I was seventeen and still pure; he had watched me, exclusively, during class that evening. The setting sun shimmered through the windows and glazed heavily upon the grayish stone walls, giving me something to watch so as to avoid his gaze. He was intense, almost too obvious in his lusts, so much so that I wondered why I had been the only one to notice. **

**I thought that maybe I had been unrealistic to think that Snape would possibly be interested in me. He had to be staring at something else, pathetic Neville, perhaps, who shook in fright of breaking a beaker, only to break it from all the shaking; but I knew, somewhere inside, beneath the denial, that it had been me he was watching, and only me.**

**I was the last one out of class; I gathered my belongings and skidded out of the room, nodding to Snape as I left.**

"**In a hurry, Miss Granger?" he said, standing in the shadows of the doorway.**

"**Just tired," I stated.**

"**Miss Granger," he said, awkwardly, "**_**Hermione**_**. I need you to stay behind class tomorrow; there is something urgent that I must discuss with you."**

"**Professor?" I asked, unable to breathe, or move.**

**"Please, call me Severus."**

**"Okay."**

**"Tomorrow then?" he said, as if asking, though clearly not looking for an answer. He continued to look me over before rushing back inside his classroom: a reclusive bat, returning to his cave of comfort and solitude.**

**I had walked slowly to the common room that night, thinking it over. He hadn't said it was detention, and I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, but there seemed no other reason for the meeting. I remember having a fleeting thought of being pressed against a table, legs spread, skirt raised, but had quickly tossed the image out of my mind: such fantasies would do me no good.**

I turn now to look at Snape's eyes as he leans into the crook of my neck, whispering with his silky voice, "Won't you be late for class, Miss Granger?"

I look at my watch and know he is right. 

"Oh, hell," I sigh, as I grab my things and run to the castle, hearing Severus whisper "silly girl" beneath his breath as I leave.

Ron is waiting for me outside McGonagall's classroom. He is leaning against the wall, eyes closed tight, racked with something internal. He jumps at the sound of my voice, as though he has not heard me running through the hallways.

"Ron!" I exclaim, out of breath. "Why aren't you in class? McGonagall is going to kill us both!"

"I was waiting for you; where have you been?"

"Never you mind, Ron, let's..."

"'Mione," he interrupts, grabbing my arm and pulling me from the classroom door, "I want to ask you something."

He frowns, and I begin to wonder if I would like this. Ron was always clingy, but he has been uncharacteristically close since Harry's funeral; I used to chalk it up to loneliness, or something just as sinister, but I fear now that it might have been more. It was never my intention to lead him on, only to be a friend in these dark times.

"Ron? I, um, don't think..."

"Will you go out with me?" he blurts, his face contorting further.

"Um, well," I stutter, looking for the best approach, though unable to find one. "No, Ron, I can't. I'm sorry."

I bow my head in politeness, and he bows his own in shame.

"Should we go into class now?" I ask, stepping toward the door, not really waiting for his response. I am not in a mood to cater to his sensitivity, especially at the expense of missing class. 

We take our seats under McGonagall's heavy eye, and know she isn't pleased. I try to ignore Ron's glare and focus on the lesson, but he stares straight through me somehow. The war has changed us all, Ron included, and his anger is only a part of the confusion that plagues us. I imagine him stand, even whilst McGonagall speaks; imagine him point his wand at me and threaten to turn me into a blast-ended skrewt if I don't reconsider. I feel my face burn red and my palms sweat as I cling to the reality of our position: the outbreak, Ron's detention, and the arising need to rush to Severus for protection.

I grab my bag and run, my legs finding a renewed sense of urgency. I want to get away from Ron and his feelings and his outbursts. I run from the pain of failure and death and loss; run right into the arms of Snape, of whom I demand, between tears, to hold me until I calm.

I wipe my tears onto his cloak, finding them silly now, and kiss his worried lips. I stay there, wrapped inside his warmth, and wait out the slowing of my heartbeat and welcome the path into a sleep so light that I wonder if I sleep at all. I feel a rising motion as I am carried and held close. I grasp a deeper road and pull myself onto it: the blackened swirls of emptiness a comfort to my lids and mind alike.


	2. Forbidden

_Forbidden_

**I ran into Snape in the hallways, as I walked alone from the library, one rainy day. It had been unnerving to see him outside of class ever since that night he had divulged his secret. He took me in, eyeing me from top to bottom; it made me uncomfortable and exhilarated me at the same time. **

**"Good morning," I said, lightly.**

**He flew towards me then, with an unnerving ease and delicacy that I was suddenly frightened of his presence; he nearly pushed me against the wall, his face inches from my own. His breath was sour, like firewhiskey; his breathing so deep that he could have sucked me in and out and made me part of his intricate self, a part of his very being. **

**"****Do I scare you, Miss Granger?"**

**His breath made me nauseas, and I closed my eyes in response.**

**"****Maybe you should stay away from me. That would fix _everything_****, wouldn't it, Granger?" he said, breathing in deeply to control his anger. **

**I ran from him then, afraid of his temper, until I reached the common room and fell to the floor, crying, and had decided, in my embarrassment, not to mention it to anyone. **

**I awoke in a cold sweat sometime during the night, still feeling the fire of Snape's pain on my skin. I curled up and held my legs, afraid to return to sleep, for the nightmares were heavy then, when the time to face Voldemort was so near. I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep; there was something in the air that weighed us down, as though all our evils had come to haunt us. That morning was eerie, as I dressed, knowing it was the last day of my childhood: the schoolyard was filled with Death Eaters, the Order, and scared frail students like me, like Harry. **

**Snape did not stand beside me at battle. I knew he had to fight on the side of his adversary, but his betrayal was heavy on my heart.**

**"Must you go to him?" I asked, standing at his office door, finding him preparing to join the Dark Lord's side.**

**He looked at me curiously.**

**"****Yes," is all he said.**

**The battle was quick, bodies slaughtered and strewn and jets of both Light and Dark magick flung about, hitting those I love and those I never knew and never would. I caught a glimpse of Snape defending me, a bolt of green slashed across me, knocked aside from a flick of his wand. Staring in surprise at his help, I was hit in the shoulder and knocked back. As I hit the ground, I saw Harry fall from Voldemort's wand, from a thick ugly green flash of light. **

**He had failed. **

**The sky dimmed, grayed, and was branded with a Dark Mark on its once innocent domain. I was suddenly covered by a shield of black, a cloak, and the cold face of my professor above me, holding me, seeking my wellness. I saw in him then a man who deserved more; a man who cared.**

**That night, though the flicker of Light had dimmed forever from Voldemort's success, Snape and I had found a source of hope in each other: we clung together in desperation against the newly found cold. I saw in him a sensuality that no one else had ever exhumed, a mysteriousness that no one would ever surpass. I saw the face of a man who longed for love, but knew not how to take it. That night, I gave him my heart and I gave him my life.**


	3. The Fury of the Gods

_The Fury of the Gods_

I walk the long hallways of Hogwarts to the moving staircases, and find Ron beating his fists against the picture of the Fat Lady, who is annoyed by the abuse. I hesitate, unwilling to face him, considering leaving, but deciding to get it over with. He hears me, turns, and looks down at his feet.

"Forgot the password," he says, shyly.

"Oh," I say.

"I got detention."

I nod.

"Lines."

"Oh."

"Look, if you don't want to… I mean, we…"

"I have a boyfriend, of sorts," I say, trying not to hurt his ego too badly.

"Oh," he says.

"Well," I say, "the password is _ginger root_."

"Right."

He sways a little, uncomfortable, still looking at his feet.

"Boyfriend, huh?" he asks.

"Yeah," I smile. 

"Anyone I know?"

I hold my breath, not sure whether to tell him. He notices my stalling, and raises his eyebrows.

I smile back, timidly. 

"Some people," I start, slowly, "don't necessarily have a choice of who they love. It seems that even if you may not like someone initially, you end up with them, regardless."

Ron smiles, a little dauntingly, though his eyes still seem saddened.

"So, is he tall? Is he _dreamy_?" he laughs.

"Well," I say, "he's taller than I am. I wouldn't say dreamy. Average."

"Would I approve?"

"Probably not."

"It isn't _Malfoy_ is it?"

"No."

"Good," he says, spiteful, "'cause I'd never speak to you again, you know."

"Right," I say, not convinced he wouldn't do the same for Snape.

"Can I meet him?" he asks, cautiously.

I am silent. There is nothing more that can be said.

**I think back to how the dungeon walls had greeted me with a smirk that fateful night when I stayed late after Potions. I had been there many times before, in Snape's classroom; but that night its familiarity had faded. **

**He had a staleness to his face. I stood before him and he looked right through me; neither of us speaking, neither of us alive.**

"**I assume you are already aware of the existence of prophecies," Snape finally spoke.**

"**Yes, sir," I said, simply.**

**He twitched with the slightest hint of a smile, and turned to produce a cloudy-white sphere from a drawer of his desk. **

"**See what you make of this."**

**He handed the prophecy to me, cautiously, leaning back and watching me. I took the sphere in my palms and rolled it around in curiosity; it seemed to speak to me, and only me, and I listened, frightened, until it calmed and I looked up at Snape, terrified. He nodded, sadly.**

"**Are you saying, that, that this is about you, and, and me?" I asked.**

"**Indeed."**

"_**The man who knows the secret to defeating the Dark Lord**_**..."**

"…_**will choose instead to admire a love, revealed to him as the veil of youth is lifted**_**…"**

**I felt my stomach churn: it was as though I had no choice but to be his. In that moment, I wanted to run, to save myself, to save Snape, to save mankind, but my body stayed anchored. I should have been angry, but the prophecy had said that he would die either way, killing Voldemort, or loving me, and that he would choose to experience love first, and I couldn't be mad at him for that; it wouldn't have been fair. I knew then, somehow I'd always known, that he was infallibly mine.**

**I looked at Snape, at his honest, pure self: not rash, nor selfish, nor hidden, and I smiled. His eyes were deep, and I wondered if that passion was born with him, or if it was learned. **

**He stalled, pursed his lips lightly, and examined my mouth, my smile, as though he wished to kiss it away.**

"**Your age is against you, at this point, I fear," he said, "But regardless, I have found a certain liking to you, and so it would seem that you are…destined to… I hope, in time, that you might…reciprocate."**

"**I highly respect you, but…"**

**"I'm not referring to respect."**

"**I understand," I said, "but it must start somewhere."**

**Snape bit his lip, as though a shiver had risen up through his spine and pained him, and his solid expression saddened. I frowned, assuming that his mark throbbed. **

**"Why must it be like this?" I asked.**

**"I was loyal to Him before you ever came into my life," he said, rushing me out the door so he could go to his Lord.**

_And he will sacrifice his own legacy, will choose instead to admire a love… doomed for the same pleasure, the same pain, the same fate, respectfully_.

I hear it ring in my ears, in my mind, until the sickening churning returns. I never expected to fall in love with him, not even after the prophecy, but it happened, and now I face an old friend, unwilling to share with him my deepest love.

"Can I meet him?" Ron asks again.

I flinch.

"Well, Ron," I say, finally, "it's, it's Snape, actually."

Ron is pale. I see his hands clinch and his body tense.

"What has he done to you?"

"He's a good man, Ron."

"The git?"

"Don't call him that."

"What? Git? Has he hurt you? Has he _touched_ you?"

"Ron!" I burst, "It's not like that."

"Then what is it, huh? He's like fifty years older than you, 'Mione!"

"Ac-tua-lly," I huff, "he's nineteen years older, not _fifty_; not that it's any of your business."

"I'll hunt him down," he says, "I'll murder him with my own hands for_ever_touching you."

He storms off toward the dungeons, and I follow, reluctant, calling for him to stop, knowing he will never stop, not until he gets his way. His steps are wide and quick and I find it hard to catch up: Ron is so enraged that as we reach the large wooden door to Snape's office, he bursts in without a knock. 

Snape stands just beside his desk, clearly waiting for someone to arrive, though not through the door. He gives a curious side glance to Ron and then to me for answers, but it becomes all too evident what we are here for when Ron directs his wand at his professor's nose.

"How dare you touch Hermione!" Ron blurts, eyes blazed with fury.

"Get out of here," says Snape, calmly.

"_Avad_…" starts Ron, but is knocked aside by a quick swipe of Snape's wand.

"Ron, stop it!" I yell.

"You must leave now, both of you. We will deal with this later," says Snape.

Ron scrambles back to his feet and points his wand back at Snape, holding a hand out to keep me back behind him, as if to protect me.

"You're not getting away with this, Snape!" Ron screams. "I'm telling Dumbledore!"

"Fine," says Snape, softly, unconcerned. 

"Ron," I say, "I'm of age. Dumbledore won't care. Please, let's go."

"Oh, so now teachers are allowed to fool around with their students? Great! Had no idea. Well, I'll just be off now," Ron says with venom, not moving, cemented, ready to attack.

"Please, Ron," I say, pulling on his arm, but he does not move. 

Instead, Ron tries to disarm Snape, who rolls his eyes and swipes his wand with _incarcerous_and Ron is hit with rope and tied tight, unable to wiggle himself out, although he tries. There is a flash from the fireplace and a man dressed in full Death Eater garb enters the room. Snape nods, clutching his hands together. The Death Eater looks around at Ron and at me and, though he wears a mask, I am certain his expression is that of interest.

"What have we here, Severus? Guests?" he asks. I am familiar with his voice: Lucius Malfoy, I think.

"They showed up unannounced," says Snape, coldly.

"Please, just untie him and we'll get out of your way," I plead.

Snape tilts his head to my direction, deciding what to do, or maybe ignoring me, I am unsure. Malfoy is stiff; I cannot tell if he is still entertained, or annoyed.

"Demanding, aren't we, my dear?" he says. 

There is a flash from the fireplace, and another Death Eater enters the room, followed by a few other flashes, until the room feels somewhat cramped for space. The new Death Eaters inquire of my and Ron's presence, but Snape is still silent and unwilling to answer.

"We don't have time for this, the Dark Lord is near," says one of the newest Death Eaters. "I'll get rid of them."

He lifts his wand, but Snape snaps into life, disarming him, and almost just as fast, Malfoy disarms Snape in return. My heart drops as I see him stand vulnerable, almost crumpled as though preparing for the worse. 

A few of the Death Eaters laugh. 

"Sev has a pet, I see," says Malfoy. "His filthy half-blood." 

"Let _him_ get rid of her," says another. "That'll teach him to love someone over his Lord."

Snape is handed a wand, but he does not take it. He looks at the wand, then at me, then back to the wand. I am scared, for me, for him, for Ron, whose only crime was jealousy. I know he cannot kill me, not if he plans to live with it, but I am also very aware of his ties with Voldemort, and I wonder which he is most reliant on. I think of the prophecy: he will_abandon the world to its state of defilement, so long as the Dark Lord reigns_ because he would rather know love than die a martyr. I am fearful because by choosing me, he will die and I am bound to his life, to his fate, so I too then must die, and perhaps, perhaps this is how it happens.

"Severus," Malfoy mocks, "I never knew you were so sentimental."

"Kill her," says another, "The Dark Lord approaches. He will not be pleased that we are late."

Snape stays put, there in his place between them and me, never quite one or the other, not evil, not good, just somewhere in-between, always in-between. He stares at the wand in front of him, unable to look me in the eyes.

"Perhaps that's the question here," says the man with the wand. "How loyal are you to your Lord?"

Snape says nothing.

"I see," he says.

"I've always known you were a fraud," says a woman, obviously Bellatrix Lestrange, as she steps forward, pushing the man with the wand out of her way. 

"Crucio," she says, grinning madly.

"No!" I scream, jumping up to be at his side, but I am grabbed and held back by one of the Death Eaters, who forces me to watch him squirm.

His body twists violently about the ground. I can't look at his eyes, which bulge out in agony; his mouth open and firm, but does not make sound. His hands and fingers grip at the air, tense, shaking, his arms convulsing to the rhythm of his torture.

The other Death Eaters laugh as Lestrange ends her cruciatus curse and hits Snape with_sectumsempra_: his own spell. I begin to cry now, realizing her intention, that these beasts won't be happy until he dies. This is their play; this is what they live for. I am sickened by it all and I hold back the need to vomit. My capturer holds on to me tighter, aware of my miser, and pulls my hair so I can't put my head down. I continue to watch as many other curses and spells are thrown at Snape, not all from Lestrange, either: all those flashes of light, the purples, the blues, the slashing and whipping of their wands, their laughing, his pain. I want to close my eyes so as not to have to recall these images in my dreams, but I can't: as if he silently calls for me to watch. 

I hear a deep throated sound, very similar to a laugh emitted from a Death Eater; it makes the tears start to flow. Snape's body stops thrashing. He curls his injured body up, grasping at his insides, but still does not speak. 

"Let them live," says Malfoy, nodding towards Ron and me. "They will be witnesses to our power."

He turns to Snape and whispers, "Goodbye, good friend."

I hear a very familiar curse and Snape lies very still on the slippery, reddened floor. His murderer is composed, almost bored, and directs the group out through the fireplace. They leave, one at a time, even my own captor, until we are alone: a very disillusioned Ron, me, and the body of our professor.


	4. Submission

_Submission_

I crawl to Snape, finding it hard to stand from the sickness in my stomach. I call his name, knowing he will not respond.

"Severus?"

His body is torn to shreds, his eyes soulless, bleak; my sobbing changes to dry gasping, mourning. The moment stretches into an eternity. 

"Severus?"

I feel a chunk of my heart explode from the pain. It is too much; I can hardly breathe. My air escapes, my lungs collapse, and I bury my face in his blood.

I scream. I bolt out my voice in desperation for all to hear my grief._My love. My love. _How could I dare face a future full of coldness and sorrow and not have him by my side? His blood smears on my clothing, and my face is coated with the deep crimson: my hands grasp for his life, sliding off instead from all that damn blood. 

I hit his body in anger.

It is quiet and I am numb: not from cold, though there is nothing but cold that awaits me now, but rather from the shock, the surreality of the moment. 

I hear "bloody hell" from behind me and I turn to see Ron, wide-eyed. I ignore him. I cry for Snape: our love was an entanglement, binding us into one, destined for the same pleasure, the same pain, the same fate. 

"What will happen to me?" I ask. 

I want to run to safety, run to Snape, but he lies _here_ in his own blood and shit, too far from me now. I rub my wet swollen eyes and look back at Ron, but the view of him only makes me feel worse, for there is nothing for me here, beside him. I drag myself off the floor and leave him, still tied up, and walk out through the hallway, Ron's voice calling to me not to leave him alone, but I keep walking until I am out in the open air of the courtyard. 

I look up with hollow eyes into the shadow of the Dark Mark. It slithers against the clouds as if mocking me. I have lost everyone dear to me, save for Ron; but even Ron has lost his place in my heart. There is no one. I am no one. What is left? I have known this numbness before, and Snape gave me life, gave me feeling: a sense of being, a purpose, a hope, and now he is gone. There will never be another Snape. There will never be another feeling. 

This is how the world has ended. The faint light that remains of the sun has completely darkened, and any happiness is a façade: a temporary, false hope. There is no one else for me, and if there is, I don't want them, I want _him_, and _he_ is gone. _My Severus. My Severus._ If I am left to live, it will be for nothing. If I am left to live, I will be a shadow: never quite a person, and never quite a corpse. If I have _ever_ lived, it was for him.

I know what I must do. I lock my knees, determined.

I take a breath. "Bring me the Dark Lord," I shout with a voice much stronger than I feel within me. "Bring me the lord of my pain."

The Dark Mark shakes: the snake blurs as a mist of black shoots out from the mouth of the skull. I am faced with a Death Eater, his neck bent to one side in a curious manner.

"I will speak for the Dark Lord," he says.

I gulp, trying to keep from trembling, knowing what must be done. I think of Severus: his perfectness bloodied and torn. Could the future really be this hopeless, this cold?

The Death Eater stands still, patient, waiting for me to speak. I know what I have to do to be with Snape again.

I take a step toward him, reducing the space between us, reducing his sense of security. He tenses slightly. I am prepared. I open my blood-soaked arms, welcoming the end, preparing to die. His wand rises; there is a soft throaty laugh and a twist of his hand.

The same pleasure. The same pain. The same fate.


End file.
